Awoken Flame: The Scarlet Diplomacy
by kubosz
Summary: Facing the machinations of the new Baron of Plaguelands as well as mysterious goals of Jandice Barov, the Scarlet Crusade must seek allies in unlikely places... Follow-up of The Awoken Flame.
1. Prologue

_Upon the northern shores of Lordaeron, not far from the Capital City lies an ancient forest known as the Tirisfal. Few living beings frequent this eerie glade, straying from the seat of power of the dreadful Banshee Queen and her Forsaken. Gnarly twigs and blackened roots serve as shelter for maddened, blood-eyed dogs and screeching, gigantic bats. Among the rocky crevices and murky burrows, bloated, venomous spiders weave their webs. And within the ancient, stony structures, old even when the first foundations of today's Lordaeron were being laid, the dead dwell. Mindless, voracious corpses, withered husks of their former selves. The remainder of the Scourge forces soundly defeated by Sylvannas Windrunner and Grand Marshall Garithos at Lordaeron City. Even the Forsaken do not dare to foray into the deepest recesses of the Forest. They hear it whisper inside their minds. It is a voice that brings forth their long-forgotten fear, that further incites their never-ending anguish. They say it is a voice of the Lich King, luring them back into his grasp. But they are wrong._

_I remember the time before the Forsaken, before the Scourge. When the Human Alliance, having triumphed over the orcish hordes was at its finest, before the petty ambitions and infighting tore it apart. When the leaves were green and tree branches bent under the weight of juicy fruits. Even then, people tended to avoid the Tirisfal. Travelers did not wander off the well-beaten track; villagers opted to remain inside their safe hamlets, even the woodsmen refrained from journeying into the glade when the need for it was less than dire. Why was it so? No one could say. There weren't many bandits within the forest; few orcs forayed so far into the Northlands during their march and those that did were quickly apprehended by the military, ever vigilant when so close to the capital._

"_Foul and moody is the forest" – the villagers used to tell me when I visited our family's summer mansion in Brill, close to the ancient glade. It would be easy to dismiss those tall tales, if the townsfolk didn't heed them as well. They spoke of Tirisfal as if it was an actual, living being. And malicious, dark one at that. Silly superstitions my mother called such motions. And yet, even she steered clear of the forest. Both for me and my brothers, this was a decisive factor. A thing that scared off the Steel Lady of the Northlands, the woman that spread our family's power over half the Lordaeron, would have to be powerful and dark indeed._

_The problem is, even then, such mystery, the subtle hint of horror, could only draw my attention, never repel it. However, I had to wait many years to uncover the secret of Tirisfal. I had to endure the war and plague, anguish and sorrow. Finally, I had to endure my own death and rebirth as a ghostly apparition, devoid of its own free will and corporeal form. Only then, when I have lost everything, I found myself returning to this place, the mystery of my childhood. Only then I finally found courage to descend into its heart and then beneath it, to brave the secret of Tirisfal. And what I found is beyond comprehension. Anguish and horror that lurks in our dreams. The presence we feel in the shadows around us that disappears when we turn our heads and try to look straight at it. Primordial scream. Darkness embodied. It is glorious. It is all I could ever have dreamt of. After all, it's both alluring and dangerous to be dreaming of the dark… _

* * *

An underground chamber was nearly completely shrouded in darkness, bar a small patch of flickering light on its middle, where next to an ornate candlestick, strapped to a stone slab, a man bled to death. His entire body was covered in tiny, extremely carefully carved wounds. Each of those had a small tube attached to it, with drops of blood perpetually flowing through them and into an ornate goblet. Somehow, the amount of fluid within the container didn't seem to change at all – for almost three weeks now it remained half-empty.

_- Theolen Krastinov would be proud – _Thought Jandice Barov. Fair, black-haired illusionist emerged from the darkness surrounding her hapless victim with a dreamy smile. She remembered countless lessons bestowed upon her by the Scourge's master torturer. Called "the doctor" or, more aptly, "the butcher", the repulsive man had but one passion in life, and then later undeath – pain. He wanted nothing more than to discover new ways of prolonging the terrifying suffering of his victims; to send them into new depths of torment. His victims would more often than not remain chained to the world even after their demise; such was the terrible anguish of his "sessions", that their souls could not find peace even in merciful embrace of death.

Yet, seeing this miserable creature, this dry husk, now nearly completely devoid of blood and yet still alive, kept here within the dark, underground chamber for weeks now, with every single minute filled with greater and greater suffering, new methods of dealing pain tested upon him so passionately, that his voice was lost from his screams barely a few hours after the beginning of his 'session', even "the doctor" would be impressed.

As Jandice stood above him, the man's breath quickened. His body started to tremble when she reached out with her hand. He would probably close his eyes, were they still inside his eye sockets. However, all that the girl did was to gently caress his forehead.

_- Shh_ – She said – _Our time together is at its end. It's time now. _– She moved her hand onto the man's neck – _For you to meet my master._ – And with the gentle expression on her face giving way to a sick, sadistic smile, she pressed on, slowly suffocating him.

As the man grasped for air, a translucent blue vapor rose from his mouth. His tormentor stretched her other hand in its direction. It coiled around her arm, where it remained suspended until the last, desperate gasp heralded her victim's demise.

Jandice moved then to the ornate goblet, partially filled with the dead man's blood and casually shook her hand. The blue matter around the girl's arm, suddenly liquefied, dripped down into the container, where it instantly mixed with the blood. The magician picked up the goblet, that now shone with pale light and, glancing one final time at her latest victim, disappeared in the darkness.

Theolen Krastinov would truly be proud. Had it not been his body that remained, strapped to the stony slab, in the room she left.

* * *

She appeared on a balcony overlooking a gigantic, underground chamber, miles from her retreat, where she left the body. Beneath her lied the sea of darkness. Sprawling as far as the eye could see, the black mass was at a constant motion. It struck against a seemingly delicate weave of silver light that encompassed it, time and again trying to rip it apart, but to no avail. A shrill of frustration, anger and pain, so powerful and profound, that it couldn't be heard by virtually any living creature, threw Jandice onto her knees. Her master, encased in this darkness and imprisoned by whatever being conjured this web of light, cried for release. It agonized for time immemorial, suffering pain beyond human comprehension, without any hope of release.

At least until now. For now it had a faithful servant. One that would do anything in her power to release it.

It was after all this faceless horror, that returned her to life. After she was killed in the wake of Scourge invasion and reduced to a pathetic phantom, her mind connected with the creature. Surprisingly this brief communion did not shatter her mind, nor did it reduce her to a raving lunatic. On the contrary, she became more focused than ever before, with a purpose returned to her life along with a force worth serving. She gave herself willingly to it, in exchange for a new, corporeal, living body and freedom. And she did not regret it, even for a second.

She knelt at the edge of the balcony and lifted the ornate goblet above her head. With her eyes closed, she slowly tipped it forward, releasing the liquid within. A cascade of fluid dropped into the darkness, sparkling in contact with the silvery weave. And as it fell, Jandice could somehow feel the torturous embrace of the glowing web lessen. All the pain that Theolen Krastinov dealt and then received in his long life flown into the creature, empowering it. However, it was not enough. Even with all the anguish that has befallen Lordaeron in the last years, with all the suffering its current inhabitants, both living and undead bore, it was still too weak to break through.

- _Have no worry, my master _– whispered the sorceress – _I am coming closer and closer to our goal with each passing moment. _

She didn't know whether the creature heard her, whether it recognized her presence at all. After all, its mind was so vastly different from her own, that any attempt of further understanding on her part would probably end in her utter destruction. But she didn't care. She would see it free.

As she turned around to exit the chamber, a shifting mass of shadows rose from the writhing mass beneath her and broke through the weave of light. Silvery threads around it soon coiled around the column, cutting through it. However the dark appendage still raced towards the balcony with terrifying speed. Jandice braced herself for impact…

But it never occurred. As it approached the girl, the shadowy tentacle suddenly slowed down and leaned forward… cautiously, as if unsure. She reached forward with her hand and touched the dark mass. Shiver went down her spine and goosebumps appeared on her body, as the appendage slowly moved up her arm, as if caressing the sorceress. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply.

And then, the shadow disappeared. The silver threads severed it from the main mass beneath the weave. The shrill of pain returned and Jandice Barov turned around and left the room. She had a long journey before her, but first she had to seek magical healing. As she walked forward, she glanced at her arm and the patches of gore upon it, where the mere touch of her dark master left behind terrifying, festering wounds.


	2. Tyr's Hand

Two swords clashed with such a force, that sparks fell down onto the stony floor of the chamber. The crowd cheered. Over a hundred armsmen gathered on the balcony overlooking the inner courtyard of the barracks, as well as several nobles and today's… special guests, expressed their support of both combatants and spurred them on. A multitude of bright red banners flew on the strong eastern wind, that brought a strong scent of the sea with it.

High Commander Alessia Marjhan breathed heavily beneath her helmet. Her opponent pressed on relentlessly and while his attacks lacked in finesse, he more than made up for it with his raw strength and ferociousness. His twin blades were in a constant motion, feinting, slashing and piercing without pause. Although she considered herself more than able swordsman, Alessia had to admit, that if the battle went on like this for but a while longer, she would surely be defeated. So far she has managed to avoid being hit, but she barely had any strength left in her arms after having to parry a tremendous amount of her opponent's blows.

_- Officer Pureheart, I dedicate my victory to you! _– roared her opponent, addressing golden-haired woman clad in a silvery armor who watched the duel from the balcony.

For but a split second he turned his head away from Marjhan, for but a split second he let his guard down. But that was all she needed.

In a blink of an eye, she was upon him. A metallic cling, a shout of pain and one of his swords fell off his hand. Seeing the other one coming towards her with blinding speed, Alessia raised her left arm and opened her palm. Golden light flashed and her opponent's weapon was stopped by an invisible barrier.

With a groan of frustration he pressed on, however his sword remained still, suspended in the air bare inches from Marjhan's hand.

It wouldn't remain there for long, however. Alessia well knew that the man would soon overpower her barrier if allowed to try. Thus, she casually flung her sword, striking the handle of his other weapon and sending it flying in the air.

The crowd went silent. Both opponents remained still, their eyes, the only features of their faces visible from within their helmets, locked in a contest of will. Finally, after what seemed like a really long time, her opponent reached for his helmet and threw it to the ground, admitting defeat. Large, round face of Scarlet Commander Beornas was covered in sweat, his beard – wild and tangled. Yet he laughed cheerfully as he extended his hand towards her. Marjhan took off her helmet and shook it. The crowd cheered, apart from a small group of people in silvery attires.

_- Never giving me a chance, eh Commander? _– asked Beornas – _You'll see, one of these days, I'll best you!_

_ - In your dreams, Beornas. _– she answered – _Do take care of our men. Make sure that the celebrations do not go awry. And by the Light, see to it, that our guests come to no harm._

_ - You don't have to worry, Commander. _– he grinned – _I'll never miss a chance to watch over dear Pureheart._

_ - Arthas' sad heart, Beornas! _– laughed Alessia. Young woman, one of the delegates of the Argent Crusade that arrived at Tyr's Hand was so tired of his constant attempts to woo her, that Marjhan was surprised she didn't respond in violence to his appearances. – _What does a girl have to do to get the message through to you? _

_ - Nothing short of a blade between the ribs. _– he answered. She chuckled and shook her head. Crowd on the balconies started to thin out. Marjhan's face became serious once again.

_- Do take care of everything. _– she said – _And don't forget the meeting. Three hours from now at the war room. I want you there and I want you sober._

From the balcony, a stern man wearing an eye patch, one of the Argent delegates, watched her carefully, when she slid her sword back into its scabbard. He knit his brows when he saw her hand tremble as it moved away from the grip.

* * *

On the way to her quarters, Alessia was passing groups of people lost in joyful celebration. Soldiers and civilians alike raised their glasses to Alexandros Mograine. There were dances, feasting and contests of battle prowess. Today was the Ashbringer's Stand, the anniversary of Highlord's victory over the Scourge at the plains of Darrowmere and the subsequent rise of the Crusade. Today, even here, in the middle of the Plaguelands, life was good.

The sun shone brightly upon Tyr's Hand, in one of those rare occasions when clouds of brown fumes did not block its rays, and Alessia had a perfect view of the city. In those two months that have passed since she had claimed the power within the Crusade, its inhabitants have been busy transforming it into an impenetrable fortress. Carefully divided into several self-sufficient districts, each with its own supplies and carefully prepared defense positions, traps and escape routes. Plans were devised for several potential types of attacks and the militia was training relentlessly in preparation for the inevitable Scourge invasion. When the time comes, Tyr's Hand will be ready.

Nobody had any illusions as to what they were preparing to do, however. Even the best laid plans, the mightiest defenses would not be enough against the full might of the Scourge. When the time comes, Tyr's Hand will die… Unless she carries her plan through. She shook her head. There was no "unless". She **will** carry it through. They **will** avoid their fate. The alternative was unacceptable.

* * *

As soon as she arrived in her chamber, she removed her armor. She ordered servants to pour some hot water into a wooden washtub. With great relief, she slid into the steaming liquid.

For some time, she just lied in it with her eyes closed, breathing slowly and enjoying this moment of perfect serenity. After a while, however, she opened her eyes and glanced at the scabbard lying on the floor. Reluctantly, she reached for her sword's handle.

- _Yes, Mistress? _– the voice she heard in her mind was as sharp and unpleasant as always. It spoke in a condescending tone, with a false pleasantry and an untold threat behind its words.

- _Why did you do this? _– she asked – _I didn't ask you to help me. I would've bested Beornas on my own!_

- _Would you now? _– there was a hint of amusement in the question. Before she could answer, it carried on – _Of course you would. And you did. I have merely… presented you with an opportunity._

- _You told me when to strike! I started to move before he turned away! Without your aid I couldn't have utilized such a tiny window of opportunity! Nobody could!_

- _Now, that's an overstatement. _– he was obviously unimpressed by her outburst – _I have nudged you, as delicately as ever and you have used my nudge to a spectacular end. I must say, if you are really so sure that you could've bested Beornas without my aid, then you worry for nothing. _

He paused for a short while and then continued.

- _Of course, if you're afraid that Beornas is actually a better swordsman than you are, then maybe your worries are not so… unfounded. Perhaps you wonder just how much you rely on me, how accustomed you are to my nudges, how far could I… push you, Mistress. _– there was enough sarcasm in his last word to fill at least four long sentences.

She thrown the sword away, frustrated. All the peace and serenity were gone now. She rose from the tub and grabbed a towel. There was still some time before the meeting. It was best to start the preparations already.

- _I __**would**__ defeat him on my own _– she whispered.

After getting dressed, she left the room, picking her sword up on the way, without even noticing it.


	3. Silver & Red

The sun was already setting beyond the horizon when the meeting began. Apart from Marjhan, Beornas and two guardsmen standing by the doorway, four people were present.

Alberich Doan, Chief Arcanist of the Crusade as well as its temporary Archivist paced the room, seemingly deep in thought and oblivious to the world around him. His back was slightly bent, his hands – crossed behind his back. Both his hair and beard were very carefully trimmed, much to Marjhan's surprise. A hunched figure clad in a stained dark robe, brooding and unpleasant both to look at and talk with – that was always how she, and most of the others have perceived Doan. What was the catalyst of this sudden change in his appearance, she did not know. But maybe it had something to do with the last representative of the Crusade present in the room.

Grand Inquisitor Sally Whitemane sat silently on a lonely chair in the corner of the room, with her gaze wandering between all the other people present . Bright red garments she wore were a perfect foil for her pale complexion and long, silvery hair. A slight smile on her face, finger of her right hand resting on her ruby lips, crossed legs, revealed by her skimpy clothes left quite an impression on any man who would risk one gaze upon her.

Stubborn, willful and devout, she was Alessia's main opponent within the Crusade. When the new High Commander made peace with dwarves and high elves still living and fighting within Plaguelands, Whitemane was the one who protested. She claimed, that the new allies were "unpure" and "not fit to fight at the side of true believers". Even though her master and much of the upper echelons of the inquisition were dead, she still possessed much power over minds and souls of Marjhan's men.

That was one of the reasons Alessia needed the aid of other two people present in the room. Their presence within her ranks would be a natural counterbalance to Whitemane's cabal. Once members of the same order as the Scarlets, they abandoned it when the old command steered too far towards bigotry and intolerance. Now leading the rush against the Lich King in his own home under the legendary Tirion Fordring, they looked down on their old comrades, and with good reason. There was much bad blood between the Scarlet and the Argent Crusade.

- _"Crusade" they call themselves now _– Alessia sneered in her mind – _Why not the "Dawn" anymore? Tired of merely shining with divine light upon the unworthy?_

While Officer Pureheart, lithe blond woman, unfortunate object of Beornas' affections, really looked tired, that was certainly not the case with Lord Maxwell Tyrosus. Stern, one-eyed warrior was the one that created the original Argent Dawn. While he bore no love for the Scarlet Crusade, he was also reluctant to act openly against it, leaving such devices to his fiercer compatriots. Just and firm in his beliefs, he was widely admired and respected.

All of this changed, however, with the return of Tirion Fordring and the creation of Argent Crusade. The new Highlord quickly overshadowed Tyrosus, claiming both the respect in the eyes of major world powers and the love of his men. After all, it was his charisma and bold stratagems that secured victory in second battle for Light's Hope Chapel and alliance with the Ebon Blade. It was his pure, unwavering faith that cleansed the Ashbringer and let him challenge the Lich King himself. And it was his dedication that made possible the final push, alongside Horde and Alliance, into Northrend, towards their enemy's seat of power.

There was no chance that Tyrosus wouldn't hold a grudge against the Highlord, no matter how good man he was. And Marjhan had to take advantage of it. After all, she needed the Argent Dawn. The Scarlet Crusade was seen by every major power in Azeroth as a band of crazed fanatics. She certainly couldn't count on any support… unless she finds a way to present herself as an ally to a faction recognized by both Horde and the Alliance as a bastion of righteousness. And Maxwell Tyrosus possessed much power in this faction…

- _The offensive upon the Scourge? Now? With the forces we possess? With all due respect, High Commander Marjhan, this is an utter madness! _– apparently he wasn't all that enthusiastic about her plan. However, he didn't know all of it yet.

- _I'd agree with you, were it only our forces that would make a push. _– she said – _To challenge the Baron of the Plaguelands we'll need support._

- _And where were you planning to find such support? _– he asked – _You haven't invited representatives of the Knights of the Ebon Blade to this meeting. Which is highly understandable, seeing as you send out your lackeys to hunt them down and apprehend their weapons. _– he looked at Beornas, while saying these words. Marjhan's second-in-command led the Scarlet Executioners – small band of warriors who, like Alessia, overcame dark spirits dwelling within the runeblades and purified them, now using them against their former wielders.

_- I was thinking about the Alliance. _– Marjhan stated calmly.

For several seconds, there was silence. Both Argent envoys were just looking at her, with their eyes opened widely in shock. Then, Pureheart let out a burst of laughter.

- _Preposterous _– she chuckled.

Lord Maxwell remained silent, however. Alessia sensed an opportunity.

- _Lord Tyrosus _– she pressed on – _Much has changed within the Crusade. And, while I do not have a clear grasp on the global political situation, I know that something is different about the Alliance as well. The hostilities against the Horde have increased, especially against the so-called "Forsaken". We have noticed Alliance forces advancing into the capital city and a following battle. _

Alessia paused for a while. Yes, they have noticed these events. If only the dreaded Horde hadn't reinforced the "Undercity" with their troops, she would've assaulted upon, and captured the old capital. Oh well, who knows what future holds?

- _What I'm trying to say is that we can be a valuable asset to the Alliance. I recognize the mistakes the Crusade has made in the past _– she continued, but was cut short by Pureheart's snide comment – _At least some of them._

Marjhan opened her mouth, but Tyrosus' aide didn't give her an opportunity to retaliate, launching a fervent tirade.

- _For years now, you have persecuted all those that didn't share your beliefs _– Pureheart spoke, words coming from her mouth with speed of a gnomish high-velocity issue IV "gnominous" machine gun - _Burned down entire villages, murdering hundreds, if not thousands, citizens of Lordaeron on a whim. You brought shame upon all humans when you turned away from our allies, just because they don't look like us, because they don't share our beliefs. When the time came to unite against a common enemy, to throw away all of our past hatreds, you stood in the way of peace and unity! You continued to wage war upon any- and everything that was deviating from your standards, which is basically anything that is not a Light-worshipping Lordaeronian. You let yourselves be manipulated by freaking demons! You have tortured and executed innocents! And you dare to talk about" mistakes"? _– Pureheart's face was red from anger. Marjhan tried to cut in, but the argent officer was not over yet.

- _And "an asset to the Alliance"? Honestly? Why would they need you, when they have the Argent Crusade at their side? And the Ebon Blade? And the Red Dragonflight? And the Horde? Why would they need you, when they have the Ashbringer? You pride yourselves on being the " champions of the Light", but what are you next to Tirion Fordring? You were, are and always will be, nothing. _– Pureheart concluded grimly – _And the time is close now for you to leave the stage. Permanently. I won't shed a tear._

Silence fell upon the room. Alessia was just blankly staring at Pureheart, trying to find some words of rebuttal. Alas, her efforts were in vain. Her adversary was right. The Scarlet Crusade was wrong all this time. It was guilty of the crimes Pureheart attributed to it. There was nothing Marjhan could say to change it. Why there was nothing? She gripped the handle of her sword. – _You are their leader, damn it! Act like one! Who's going to make a stand for them, if not you? _– She asked herself.

Marjhan opened her mouth, ready to answer Pureheart, but she was cut short by another voice.

- _Bullshit! _


	4. Verbal Warfare

Whitemane didn't shout. She didn't have to. Somehow her calm, seemingly indifferent tone seemed more intimidating than whatever resounding yell Marjhan could muster.

- _Excuse me? _– Pureheart turned towards the Grand Inquisitor, who remained motionless. Only her lips, until now curved in a slight smile, curled in contempt.

- _"We have a common enemy. The last dreadlord, Balnazzar, currently controls the capital city of your kingdom. If you help me kill him, I'll see to it that you get your lands back.". Do you know who said these words, Officer Pureheart? _– Whitemane asked.

Not bothering to wait for an answer, she carried on. – _It was one of your allies, "The Dark Lady", Sylvannas Windrunner. Those are her words as relayed to us by one the few survivors of Grand Marshall Garithos' army. Care to remind us what happened to the soldiers of that army and what good did Sylvannas' promise bear?_

- _You would trust the words of a soldier from a vanquished army? Of course he had an interest in painting his adversaries in black colors. _– Pureheart remained unmoved – _Besides, I won't shed a tear for Lord Garithos. He was no better than you._

- _Quite picky you are in choosing your allies, aren't you Argent Officer? _– Whitemane paused for a moment – _No, not really. You accept everyone but us. You open your arms for the Forsaken, Orcs and Sin'dorei, not to mention the Ebon Blade. _

- _They repented for what they have done in the past. But of course you with your heads stuck in history would never… _– Pureheart was ready to continue her retort but this time it was she, who was cut short.

_- __No, they didn't! _– Grand Inquisitor shouted.

Pureheart took a step back as Sally Whitemane rose from her seat. She grabbed her silvery staff and, hitting the floor with it at each step, she started to approach her opponent. Tip of Inquisitor's weapon shone with a flickering light.

- _I have seen countless victims of the Forsaken plague. At best, they were deceased, having died a horrible, painful death. At worst – left hanging in a terrifying state of half-death, their souls caged in a rotting body of a ghoul. Tell me, Pureheart, what was the terrible crime the citizens of Lordaeron committed against the "Forsaken". Trying to hold "The Dark Lady" to her words?_ – With each and every word Whitemane spoke, the light glowed a little stronger.

Pureheart took another step back, but she didn't lose her composure – _You have your mouth full of "peasants" and "citizens of Lordaeron" but you omit the obvious – they allied with you! They were the ones who started to persecute the Forsaken!_

These words seemed to have some effect, only not the one golden-haired woman had in mind. Whitemane raised her staff and hit the floor. Now the entire shaft shone with bright golden radiance. Sparks flew up in the air and an electric current flown through the ground. The inquisitor knit her eyebrows. Her eyes were filled with fury.

- _"Persecute"?. You paint those zombies as passive victims of our ruthless persecution and refuse to acknowledge anything that they've done to the others? Have you visited the town of Hillsbrad, or rather, what remains of it? Have you made a step into one of their villages? Have you laid your eyes on their contraptions, their poison canisters? Of course not, it's so much easier to be blind! _– Whitemane carried on, still approaching her opponent.

Lord Tyrosus stepped forward, reaching for his sword, but he was stopped half-way. Beornas grabbed his arm and held it now with an iron grip. Argent leader opened his mouth to protest but Scarlet Commander merely shook his head and nodded at two women.

- _You are a worthy follower of your Highlord. Blinding yourselves to the true nature of your allies, because it would be so much better if they were all just and honorable. Tell me, Pureheart, what have we done that compares to the horror of the First and Second War? Research, development and application of the new plague? Slaughter of thousands of innocents, not because it might be necessary but because it's so much fun to kill all living? _– Whitemane didn't relent.

She waved her staff and suddenly Pureheart fell to the floor, hit with an invisible force. Whitemane was but a few steps away now and still approaching. Marjhan reached for her sword. She couldn't let Grand Inquisitor spoil everything she tried to accomplish. While she might have agreed with Whitemane's sentiments, she couldn't let them stand in the way of their survival.

She nodded at Beornas, who released Tyrosus from his grip. All three unsheathed their swords and began approaching two women.

- _Stand down, Grand Inquisitor! _– Alessia shouted at Whitemane. There was no reaction.

- _You merely watched as the death knights of the Scourge murdered hundreds of peasants and townsfolk. What was their crime? Accepting our protection? Wanting to live a normal life in their own homes? Not bowing before absolute righteousness of Tirion Fordring? _– Inquisitor stood above Pureheart now. Argent officer tried to propel herself up with her left arm, but it gave in with a jolt of pain. Ever since an unsuccessful assault upon Scourge-filled Andorhal, Pureheart lived with terrible wounds on her body, one of them rendering her left hand completely useless.

- _Whitemane, stand down! _– Marjhan repeated, but once again, to no avail. She nodded at Beornas and they both rushed forward with their weapons drawn.

Only to be repelled by an invisible wall of energy. It was as if they hit a solid surface but there was nothing but air before them. Lord Tyrosus slashed it furiously, but the only reaction was a dim blue glow in a place where the warrior's weapon clashed with magical barrier.

Alberich Doan stood now between them and Whitemane, with both his hands joined behind his back, as was his custom. His face bore no emotion.

- _I should pray for your glorious leader and wish him well, but I'm afraid I'm not a good enough person. _– Whitemane carried on – _Instead I pray that he continues with his blind demeanor. That when the orcs decide it is time for conquest, he will say it is no fault of their own that they have such a violent nature and watch them slaughter hundreds without any reaction. That when the "Forsaken" decide to pollute all of Lordaeron with their plague and fill it with blackened vegetation, poisonous fumes and rotting corpses, he will say that they are but victims of an unfair treatment. That when the Ebon Blade tortures its enemies with means no different than the Scourge, he will simply state that he has no right to interfere in their affairs. And finally, when his inaction will leave him standing alone among countless corpses, last survivor of a long-dead land, I hope he will go in peace, with smile on his face, delusional till the end!_

- _You have no right to slander the Ashbringer! _– shouted Pureheart drawing her sword with her right hand. Whitemane disarmed her with a slight motion of her staff.

- _There is but one Ashbringer! _– she stated – _The one who fought the Scourge till the end but didn't lose the goals of the Silver Hand, one who knew that his duty was to protect Lordaeron!_

- _One, who was murdered by your lover! _– Pureheart shouted.

Marjhan inhaled loudly. It was widely known that Renault Mograine and Sally Whitemane were once intimate. In fact, when it was confirmed that he was the one who murdered his father, many suspected his beautiful lover to stand by him and brand him a saint and all others, liars. While this could well mean the schism within the ranks of the Crusade, she possessed enough support to pull it off.

Only, she didn't. Sally Whitemane was among the first who renounced Renault Mograine. Seeing sheer fury in her eyes, Alessia trembled.

- _Doan, please, stand down! _– she shouted in desperation. Her chief Arcanist was a master of defensive magic. She wouldn't be able to penetrate his barrier in time.

He simply shook his head.

- _You can kill me but you won't silence the truth! _– Pureheart seemed to be at terms with her fate – _Tirion Fordring __**is**__ the champion of the Light and the best of the Silver Hand. He __**is**__ the Ashbringer and he __**will**__ lead us to victory!_ _The Light is with him!_

Upon hearing these words, Whitemane bent down. Now her whole body was radiating power.

- _But it is also with me. How will you explain it? I summoned the Light to bring pain and suffering upon the undead abominations. I made them disappear in roaring columns of holy fire! _– she shouted.

Marjhan raised her hand to cover her eyes and she saw the others do the same. Whitemane disappeared in a blinding flash of holy energy that enveloped both her and Pureheart. Alessia winked several times. To her right, Tyrosus took his hand away from his face. He was furious. The area where two women stood was still obscured by a bright glow.

- _There is no possibility of us continuing the negotiations, Marjhan. _– said Maxwell – _It might have been Whitemane's stunt but if you are unable to keep your men in check, then how are we supposed to cooperate?_

He seemed to want to say something more but then the glow dissipated and they saw both women once again. Neither seemed harmed.

- _And I brought people back from the precipice of death. _– Whitemane whispered. She staggered, visibly fatigued from her previous display of power. Doan rushed to help her, but she shook him off. Tyrosus stormed towards Pureheart to aid her.

No aid was necessary, however, for Argent Officer rose on her own with the help of her left hand. She was visibly shaken and still reeling from shock. She pressed different parts of her body. There was no pain.

- _She… She healed them. My wounds are gone. _– muttered Pureheart. Four heads turned towards Whitemane with disbelief.

- _She's good! _– commented the voice in Marjhan's head. There seemed to be a hint of an actual admiration in the fel spirit's tone.


End file.
